II) Casual Misogyny and the Subordination of Women

I have mentioned already that the show’s producer and primary writer is Michelle Ashford, a woman. Thomas Maier’s biography from which the series gets its title centers on the partnership of Masters and Johnson, but (by its own admission) relies more heavily on interviews with Johnson than Masters. (He was apparently more reticent, even into retirement, and his health issues affected the amount of access Maier received. It may be the case as well that after one partner dies the other feels more at liberty to speak openly without violating expectations of privacy. ) The show is definitely an ensemble drama, tracking other colleagues and family members, but Virginia is  the primary source of information and focal point.

I think that fact may explain why I find Masters of Sex so much more effective than that other period drama set in the post-war past: Mad Men. Both shows confront viewers with reminders, sometimes painful ones, of just how sharply the cultural landscape was structured to favor men and subordinate women in the none-too-distant past. But because Mad Men centers around a male protagonist who is meant to be, whatever his failings, sympathetic, I fear it sometimes fetishizes the period details, including  the deplorable attitudes towards women. Masters of Sex is set about a decade earlier than Mad Men, but its female characters, especially Virginia, are richer and more nuanced. Because she is more assertive and aggressive about pushing against the barriers set in place for her as a woman, we are allowed to see how pervasive and insidious those barriers are.

In an early episode, a suitor is so enraged by Virginia’s spurning his affections (though not his sexual invitations) that he literally punches her in the face. But because he is a respected doctor and she has voluntarily had sex with him, she finds herself with no real recourse to hold him accountable. In a later episode, after Virginia is established in her position and better off financially, she reveals that a single woman can’t buy a car unless she can persuade a male colleague to co-sign the loan.

The greatest challenge facing women at the time is, of course, a lack of power. And the show is brilliant at drawing how inequalities in power erode the foundation for effective partnerships. Virginia begins as a secretary, and Bill is a doctor. So it is appropriate that there should be a power discrepancy at the office, at least at first. He is her boss. But the series shows how Bill cannot separate the spheres of life in which he is legitimately boss from those where there should be mutual respect (marriage) or even deference (his relationship with his mother). He decides, without giving her much say in the matter, what his wife’s fertility treatment should be and what information her doctor can and can’t share with her about it. He blackmails the provost of the University with information unearthed during his study, and he routinely avails himself of emotional release of frustrations by punishing his subordinates when he is angry with himself or doesn’t get what he wants. He refuses to let any undeveloped film of a female participant in the study out of his sight because no other men can be trusted and then keeps a copy of  some of the unedited footage for himself as a private porn stash.

Complementarianism and egalitarianism are sensitive, polarizing topics in Christian circles. In some circles, perhaps, they are topics as volatile as the subject of sex itself. And a review is not a sufficient place to rehearse all the arguments for and against each way of conceptualizing marriage. But the show underlines a point that is worth making in our thoughts about these issues: we tend to believe in other areas of life besides gender relations that absolute power corrupts absolutely. We usually accept that not having accountability is unhealthy, and that few (if any) of us have the self-discipline to not take advantage of our superior position of power when we are threatened, vulnerable, or afraid. Bill, Austin and Ethan (other doctors), and Barton (the closeted provost) are not monsters, but they are also often not in control of themselves. And when they lose control, it is, invariably, the women in their lives that bear the brunt of the cost. That’s not because those women like it, or are long-suffering, or saints. It’s simply because their culture doesn’t really afford them many alternatives other than to take it and appeal to the man’s better nature.

Next Page:  The Truth Hurts